


Sleep Hard Dream Fast

by lovebashed



Category: Fall Out Boy, My Chemical Romance, Panic! at the Disco, The Academy Is..., The Hush Sound
Genre: Apocalypse, M/M, Minor Character Death, Monsters, Multi, Zombies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-12-21
Updated: 2007-12-21
Packaged: 2017-10-28 06:54:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/305008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lovebashed/pseuds/lovebashed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Monster apocalypse. Sequel to <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/304888">Between The End And Where We Lie</a>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sleep Hard Dream Fast

**Author's Note:**

> This was written in 2007. As always, many thanks to [turnyourankle](http://turnyourankle.livejournal.com/) for the beta.

_Sex in wartime is sweeter than peace_  
Rhett Miller, My Valentine

 

What's kept Gerard alive for so long is his immense fear of not knowing what will happen to Mikey and Frank if he dies. Especially to Frank because Gerard thinks Pete is maybe a little _fierce_ about Patrick and Mikey's wellbeing. Not the same way Gerard is fierce about Frank's though. No one could be that fierce. But still, it's good to know someone is looking out for his brother.

Gerard pushes his hair out of his face and looks at Frank.

They're alone again, found a nice little crook on the far side of the warehouse, cardboard boxes all around hiding them from the others. It's dark, but not jet-black, windows letting a smear of weak light in. Stars and the full moon are their friends tonight.

Frank is leaning his back on the metallic wall: legs heavy on Gerard's lap, eyes staring intently at him like he’s thinking about something important. Sharp cheeks, greasy unkept hair, lipring moshing on his mouth when he plays with it with his tongue.

It’s like this: Gerard would gladly die for him. There’s not a doubt about it in his mind. But if he died, he wouldn't be able to keep an eye on Frank anymore. So he figures, he figures if him being alive is the best way to make sure Frank stays alive, he will be damned if he lets himself get killed. The thing is he knows Frank feels the same way about him and that knowledge is partly what keeps him going, gives him strength to go on. It makes him feel safe. Like somebody’s got his back. They make a good team, him and Frank.

"I told you we'd make it, told you we would-" Gerard says quietly, but Frank sighs and it's heavy and a little heartbreaking.

"We haven’t- haven't made it yet, Gerard. And I don’t think-"

"Shh, please just," Gerard whispers wrapping his arm around Frank's legs and pulls him down. He settles clumsily atop, nose pressing into the protruding bone of Frank's cheek.

He bites gently at the grimy skin behind Frank's ear where his hairline juts out, peppering some kisses here and there.

It's dark and kinda quiet, would be too quiet if Frank wasn't breathing so close to his ear. It's raspy and uneven, loud if anything in their small, poky hideout.

Gerard licks Frank's dirty skin wanting to hear more of him; needs him ringing in his fucking ears.

"Don't think about it, any of it, not now. Just. Just..." _Be at peace for now_ , Gerard wants to say but groans instead because Frank is smoothing his palms over thighs in dirty jeans, the warm skin of his abdomen where his shirt is tugging up, the thick pressure in his groin.

"Okay," Frank agrees, mouthing, breath hot on Gerard's temple. "Okay, yeah. Okay just- _fuck_ ," he inhales sharply and moans, and _that_ , that's exactly what Gerard was going for.

Frank’s fingers grip Gerard's upper arms when Gerard moves above him, grinding and kissing, trying to make Frank feel so good, so good that for a while it'll be like the world isn't ending for them. Like the awful desperation they’re all feeling would ease some.

He pushes his hand down to the small of Frank's back, finding grime and tiny rocks there, sticking into Frank's skin where his t-shirt is rucked up,poorly covering him. Gerard rolls around, moves them so that Frank is straddling him. Better, much better, he thinks as the hard cement floor scratches his scalp.

Frank's wearing a dark, focused look and too many clothes. His hips twitch shallowly on Gerard's lap, hands rubbing down Gerard's chest.

Gerard tugs at Frank's jeans, pushes his thumb through the uppermost buttonhole resting there for a while.

"Gerard," Frank whines a little, covers Gerard's hand with his own.

And Gerard can't help but think how lucky he has been in everything bad that's happened to them. He's alive still. They're all alive. He still gets to feel Frank in every possible way; gets to hold him, touch him, talk to him, be close with him.

"I love you," Gerard says surprised at how easy it is to find his voice, strong and controlled. So he repeats it, and again until Frank scowls down at him and tells him to shut up because this is not a fucking death scene.

"Remember when I said I'd miss being close with you?" Frank asks, hand loosening its grip on Gerard, pushing it under Gerard's shirt instead. "When we knew we had to leave soon?"

"Remember, yeah," Gerard agrees, breath hitching when Frank grinds down on him. He tries to push Frank's jeans down his hips to get this _thing_ going because the pressure in his own jeans is getting hard to ignore. He just needs, needs to...

"I take it back,” Frank says, sitting up properly, poking a finger at Gerard’s stomach. “The closeness hasn’t gone anywhere. You’ve done nothing but harassed me since we left." He laughs breathily, rising to his knees, allowing Gerard to finally pull his pants down to his thighs.

Fingers pushing into the waistband of Frank's boxers, Gerard laughs too, because _fuck_ if it isn't true. Something about Frank and the end of the world just makes him so, so desperate.

"You know-" Gerard starts but then _something_ grabs Frank by the neck and lifts him up from Gerard's lap with a growl.

"Gerrr-" Frank yelps, twitching legs tangled up in pulled-down jeans. He kicks something rottenly grey and ugly in the shins anyway, and it whines a little bit, recoiling.

"Fuck." Gerard scrambles up, going for his switchblade that's lying on the ground near him. "Don't let it bite you, it's a zombie!" he yells, ignoring how ridiculous it sounds out loud.

Frank aims a kick at its kneecap, struggling to breathe around a thick arm that's squeezing him against a broad chest. "Fuck, _Ge_ rard!"

Gerard goes for it, grabs it by the hair, yanking its head up when it turns towards Frank's neck, teeth bared and yellow. He hurts its back with his blade, forcing it to let go of Frank and lunge at him instead.

The zombie is slow though, slow in its moves and Gerard is fucking _good_ at this, so he gets its stomach sliced open, cuts its neck to make sure.

The blade drops to the ground, making loud, clattering sounds. Gerard’s hands jitter terribly when he turns to Frank.

"Frank. Frank are you-"

"I'm fine," Frank coughs and rubs his throat. He pulls his jeans back up from where they’re pooling around his ankles and strikes the toe of his sneaker against the zombie’s ear, kicking it hard on the head. Gone. "It didn't - I'm fine," he says, quickly buttoning up the jeans.

Gerard doesn't fully comprehend, can't stop seeing stained teeth and Frank's neck in his mind. Frank is _not_ fine. Frank has just been _attacked_.

"Fuck, fuck, come here. Come here for a sec," he says reaching for Frank’s arm, only to have him pull away.

"Gerard, really, I said I was-"

"Just let me see. Please?" Gerard says quietly but Frank pushes him away. He grabs Frank’s arm again, giving him a look. “Quit being an ass,” he says, tugging at the mouth of Frank's t-shirt, stretching it over his shoulder. Frank sighs but relents, letting Gerard do this, lets him make sure. He places a warm palm on Gerard's hip and cocks his head so that it's easier to see.

Frank's skin is unbroken, no blood, no bitemarks. Gerard checks the back of his neck too and then pushes his face in the crook, trying to fix his own fucked up breathing.

“Told you I was fine.”

Gerard hums. "That was too fucking close though," he mumbles into Frank's collarbone, heart in his throat. "Too fucking close."

Frank hugs him awkwardly, arm wrapping around Gerard's hunched back. "Okay, it’s okay. I’m okay, man. Didn’t hurt me,” he says, and then “Come on, we should probably check up on the others, make sure that was the only one."

Gerard nods as best as he can, face still pressing into Frank. He drops a quick kiss to Frank's shoulder, and another, and another, but eventually pulls away.

 

~*~

 

The sun shines thinly in the morning, turning air bright and pale. Even though Pete's never actually been in Vegas before, he is pretty sure it isn't supposed to be quite so cold, especially this close to the summer. Pete isn't sure of the date, but he thinks they’re probably in the early stages of September.

He's patrolling the maze of industrial buildings, warehouses and such with Joe and Mikeyway while the others are hunting for food. Chocolate bars and Diet Cokes or something. Salted peanuts for Patrick.

Mikey is walking determinedly one step ahead, crossbow in hand swinging on a level with his thigh.

They had a scare last night, Frank and Gerard, but Mikey must have felt it strongly as well. Pete figures Frank must be to Mikey kind of like what Patrick is to him. Minus the part where Pete would most likely jump Patrick if the guy gave him a fair chance.

Things changed when they got to Vegas. What they once faced in the east coast is nothing compared to the west. The monsters that were here and there, sporadic and fairly easy to destroy, are now greater in amount, angrier and hungrier, more aggressive. No one's saying how bad a decision they made coming here, but Pete is pretty sure everybody's thinking it.

Brendon seems to be the only one of them still hopeful -- hoping to find the ''groups'' Steve and Brian had so keenly talked about on the radio.

To Pete, Vegas seems like a city of lost hope, failed battles both mental and physical, and bad decisions. Everything he expects to find is deserted buildings, monsters and the occasional rotting bodies that haven't disappeared like the others. He doesn’t know why they disappear in the first place, but it’s what he has learned to expect from them, and when they don’t, well…

Maybe the disappearing process just takes some time. No one’s wanted to stick around a body long enough to find out. No one’s wanted to play a game of wait and see. Maybe the monsters eat the dead in due time, but it’s all a bunch of guesses and speculation. Nobody knows anything.

Joe looks bored, left hand in jeans pocket, the other one holding a plank with rusty nails sticking out from it. It’s not the best weapon in the world but he’s made due.

It’s been a peaceful morning, nothing’s gotten in their way.

“Hey you all wanna play a game?” Pete asks over the irritating noise the pipe he’s dragging behind makes when it bumps on the ground.

Mikey glances at him out of the corner of his eye and shrugs. He’s been pretty quiet the whole morning.

Joe makes a sound that Pete thinks could be either interpreted as an unenthusiastic _sure, why the fuck not_ or a regular _just hit me with a stick in the head why don’t you_.

This doesn’t discourage Pete in the least. He grins and says, ”Okay well, uh. Okay.”

Looking around for something he could use, he notices a white, chubby blob moving around in the near distance. A _dog_ is sniffing up a lamp post!

“Okay. Okay. I _spy_ with my _little eye_ ,” he starts in an irritating voice and Mikey snorts exasperatedly, shaking his head.

“Come on dude, this’ll be good, I promise.” He’s still eyeing the dog. It’s small but it would probably make a good guard. “I spy with my little eye something that looks like it will pee in about- oh, now,” he says and watches the dog raise its leg as a salutation to the lamp post.

“What?” Joe croaks following Pete’s gaze. “Oh shit, dude. That’s awesome!” It really is. It’s the first animal they’ve seen in ages, save for the occasional street birds.

“Yeah dude, awesome,” Mikey agrees and grins at Pete for the first time that day. It makes Pete grin as well, so hard that his cheeks hurt.

“Told you so.”

 

~*~

 

Frank thinks the dog should be named _Chainsaw_. Or if that's too suggestive then maybe Cujo or, "Oh, Ceasar! After my uncle’s dog. He was such a fucking psycho. Remember, Gerard?"

He and Gerard argue about it for a good ten minutes, Gerard occasionally throwing in names like Calcutta and Gin, which make Frank laugh.

"What the fuck are those? _Comic book_ dogs? You're a real geek, Gerard Way." Gerard pokes his tongue out at Frank and Frank imitates the gesture, then pinches Gerard’s tongue between his fingers.

Pete rolls his eyes at them. He doesn't understand why Frank and Gerard think _they_ get to name the dog. Pete was the one who found it. Even Mikey and Joe would have more to say about the name than these guys, they just don’t seem to be caring that much. Instead, they’re sitting on the floor, legs crossed like Buddha statues, a messy pile of playing cards between them.

"Look guys," Pete says, petting his new friend on the top of its head. It wiggles its tail and sniffs Pete's hand, smooth tongue coming out to lick his palm. "I already told you his name is Hemingway."

"How is that a good name for a guard?" Frank asks. "What's it gonna do, bore the monsters to death with its tedious literary works?" Gerard muffles his chuckles badly with a fist on the mouth and nudges Frank’s shin. Frank smiles sweetly up at Gerard before pushing a hand to the side of his head. “Don’t laugh, it’s not _nice_.”

Pete opens his mouth to argue some more but then Ray and Patrick come running from outside yelling at everyone to hurry up and pack their shit because they have to leave _now_.

“Fuck. What is it?” Pete asks as Patrick yanks him by the collar, gets him up from the makeshift bed that Pete fixed from cardboards and a thin blanket. He goes to grab his backpack from where it’s leaning against the wall.

“Does it matter? Some creepy things, I don’t know! Come on, man, hurry the fuck up!”

There is general scrambling and chaos. A whirlwind of hoodies and backpacks, sleeping bags and blankets.

Jon grabs Brendon’s hand sleepily and nudges him to get the guy moving, both just jerked awake by the noise.

Ray ushers Frank, Gerard and Mikey out of the second exit that’s on the opposite side of the warehouse, a few feet away from a crappy dirty-white space heater. It hasn’t kept them warm in the least, but then again, it isn’t supposed to be Chicago weather in fucking Vegas. Ray looks panicked, like the only thing that matters to him at the moment is to make sure those three get out as fast as possible. Pete’s kind of curious to know what Ray and Patrick saw, but he makes sure not to loiter on the way.

Andy reaches the exit next, but stays put, waiting for the others to scurry out. When Jon and Brendon are outside, Joe on their tail, he and Pete push the heavy double doors shut. Patrick seals the doors with a large wooden plank while Hemingway kind of just jumps up Pete’s legs and barks excitedly.

They don’t stay to listen to the sounds booming from inside, but instead run into the old school school bus, their loyal means of transport.

 

~*~

 

Lately, things haven't gone so well for Spencer and co.

It's only been a week since the fight that had supposed to be a piece of cake. They had been so ready, so prepared, thinking that they would without a doubt come out of it as winners; victorious and unaffected. Instead, Ryan is gone, and William's leg is as good as. He is lying on the plush double bed in a hotel bedroom, his and Spencer's bandanas carefully wrapped around the deep gash right below his left knee. He is feverish, forehead pale, cheeks flushed, and eyes too clear to be unfocused but somehow still managing. His wavy hair is a shade darker from all the sweating.

Spencer doesn't think the infection in Bill's leg will turn the guy into anything he might have come across with on sci fi Fridays when the TV still worked, but it doesn't mean Bill won't _die_ from it. It's pretty fucking bad, but he tries to keep a positive air around them, especially when he's talking to Bill.

The hotel is medium sized, three polished stars and a nice ambiance. The bedspreads in their room are snow white where Bill's leg isn't smearing crimson streaks on 100% cotton. The magenta shower had made Spencer choke up on the first night, hot tears and hot water a cleansing mixture on his face.

If something good came out of the fight, it's this. They managed to clear the area out of a swarm of monsters, and if they keep guarding the main doors at all times, they might have found themselves a good place to stay. The three of them: Spencer, Greta and Chris, because Spencer doesn't think Bill will last very long.

Greta is usually the one playing the nurse: her first-aid kit spread open on the bed next to Bill. She doesn't know what she's doing but then again, none of them do. Chris is usually outside their room, exploring passageways and entrances, blocking and booby trapping them as best as he can. He doesn't do that well around dying people. Greta says it has to do with Robert and Darren's deaths. That boy isn't processing well.

Spencer tries to make himself useful by standing guard, bringing Greta damp towels, and keeping Bill company. He doesn’t think he’s doing very well in his attempts at entertaining Bill though, and is relieved whenever the guy is sleeping. He doesn’t like being around dying people either. They make him nervous.

Greta and Chris stopped painting their faces soon after Robert died. The only one left with a gang sign is William. But it’s lost its meaning, they’re all the same now. Greta looks good with a naked face, like she’s not going to kill you in your sleep.

“How do I look?” Bill asks Greta one morning when Spencer is done shaving him. His eyebrows are raised, lips pursed like he’s attempting to make a kissy face. He looks like a badly drawn cartoon fish. Spencer snorts and shakes his head placing the razor on the nightstand.

“Like a really skinny chick,” Greta deadpans, barely raising her head from the first-aid kit, studying different labels with care.

“That’s my gimmick,” says Bill monotonously and shrugs his shoulders.

 

~*~

 

Andy preaches tirelessly about the death of the human race, and how much good it will do the world eventually. It's been a long time coming, really, and they are the only ones that can be blamed.

Joe keeps scowling at him whenever he says these things, reminding him that this has nothing to do with the global warming or the general exploitation of the Third World. It's happening because it's happening and there's nothing anyone could have done to prevent it.

"It's still getting the job done, though. Mother Nature would be proud."

"Shut up," Joe says, making a face at the motley crew of monsters coming at them, growling and baring teeth like that would make them feel more threatening. Joe has seen it all before, they all have, and he thinks about Mother Nature when he’s aiming a hit at a giant spider, wondering if she would object.

 

~*~

 

Gerard and Frank are walking down the city centre, dodging broken glass and paper waste on the messy streets. The kitchen knife attached to Frank's hip with his mother's old rosary is a nice, comforting weight, as is the metal pipe leaning on his shoulder. Gerard looks like a futuristic samurai in his well-loved leather jacket, a badass weapon clutched tightly to his hand. _Badass_ , Frank mouths and then smiles, the tip of his tongue pushing between his teeth.

It's their turn to look for the so-called groups of people, the ones Brian and Steve talked about. Frank wants to believe they're still there, somewhere, but it's been awfully quiet.

"'S'quiet," Frank says swinging the pipe lazily between them, glancing at Gerard out of the corner of his eye. "What're you thinking about?"

"Uh huh. Was thinking about work, actually," Gerard says with a small smile, sharp jaw pressing into the collar of his jacket. If Frank didn't know Gerard, he would maybe be more surprised at the answer. But he knows that Gerard loves what he does, it's just that he's been unemployed for-

"Oh, shit, you were supposed to start at your new job this week?"

"Cartoon Network, yeah. I don't suppose anyone needs stories anymore though, considering how we're all in one now. One motherfucking bigass comic strip." He sounds bitter, which is exactly what he should sound like.

"You miss drawing," says Frank and it isn't a question, so Gerard doesn't answer him.

"I had a bunch of new ideas, too. But I guess those two go hand in hand."

"Oh yeah? You were gonna make a new comic?” Frank gives Gerard a knowing smile. Gerard makes a noise and squints at Frank.

“And let me guess. The main character was gonna be this totally awesome punk kid with metal pipes and stainless steel knives, am I right?" Frank bumps his hip against Gerard's watching him grin crookedly. "He and his sidekick, Samurai-G, would beat up stupid jerks at school during the day and kick major monster ass at nights, yeah?"

"Sidekick?" Gerard says raising an eyebrow. "Sidekick. I'll show you sidekick," he says and swats Frank's ass in retaliation. Frank complains but lets Gerard push him up against a wall. His hand grips at Gerard’s leatherjacket and he pulls him closer.

"I'll show you fucking sidekick," Gerard murmurs, eyes sparkling prettily, and wets his lips.

Frank's ass stings and he is pretty sure they're about to kiss very, very soon but then _someone_ interrupts them, and it's fucking _rude_ how they keep getting interrupted all the time now.

"Would you guys keep it down, you're ruining my mission," someone grunts from behind a trashcan, a few feet away from them. The sheet metal is badly hiding a set of broad shoulders and a pale head with paler blond hair sticking up from it.

"Um," Gerard gives Frank a look and pulls away from him. He wraps his left hand around Frank's wrist, his right one gripping his weapon tightly as they walk around the trash can coming to hover over a man in his mid twenties, dressed in jeans and a black Adidas jacket that’s striped on the arms. His lip is pierced kind of like Frank's and he has a _gun_ in his hand.

The gun isn’t aimed at them though, it’s actually hanging from a loose grip between the guy’s legs, but Gerard makes a _whoa_ sound and tries to tug Frank behind him. Frank rolls his eyes and pushes Gerard out of his way going to extend his hand at the stranger.

“Hi! I’m Frank,” he says and waits for the guy to shake his hand. When he does, after a moment’s hesitation, Frank adds, “Dude over there is Gerard.”

“Bob,” new guy says gruffly and glances his watch like he has _somewhere to be_.

“Nice to meet you, Bob,” Frank says feeling a little stupid hovering over him like this, so he crouches down next to Bob, setting his pipe down on the ground beside him. Gerard comes to lean sideways against the wall, placing his switchblade carefully next to him, crossing his arms to his chest.

“What’s your mission?” Gerard asks. He lifts his fingers to his mouth and starts biting on the skin around the nail of his thumb.

Bob raises his head to look at Gerard, shading his eyes with his hand from the sun that peeks irritably from behind Gerard’s shoulder. “To kill as many motherfuckers I can before I die.”

Frank looks at Gerard and Gerard looks back at him and they both grin toothily. “Hear hear,” Frank says and highfives Gerard.

They found one.

 

~*~

 

Bob can't help but be a little surprised when these two stumble in his way. He hasn't had much luck with finding other people, not that he's been looking, but still. The only ones he's seen since this thing started were Bert and Quinn and Jepha and Dan: a handful of suffering fools with too much bluster and too little brains to survive.

These two don't look too savvy either, but considering they're still alive, they must be doing something right.

"Where's your group?" Gerard asks. He and Frank are walking on either side of Bob, playing Spanish inquisition.

Bob glances at Gerard. "There's no group."

"Wait, you're all alone?"

Bob looks at Frank and shrugs. Frank looks pitying, like it's the most horrible thing he has ever heard. "It's not a big deal."

"But. Seriously man, no one? There must be _someone_."

Gerard shushes Frank with a look and pats Bob on the back probably going for comforting. He pulls his hand away quickly though when Bob makes a face at him.

"Well, I spent a night with these fuckers last week, but. Uh, let’s just say they weren’t doing so well," Bob says a little defensively, thinking about the bloody mess of the four troublemakers that had tried to capture something big and angry, but had failed terribly. Those guys were all out of luck.

"Shit, that's though man," Frank says sympathetically shaking his head.

"Look, I said it's not a big deal," Bob tries because it's really not, but no one's _listening_ to him.

"He's got us now, Frankie," Gerard says warmly and Frank grins at him and then at Bob, nodding his head.

"That’s right!"

"Look guys, I appreciate your concern and everything but I work best alone."

"Nonsense," says Frank and slaps Bob on the back. "You're coming with us."

 

~*~

 

"And he has a _gun_ ," Gerard tells Ray and Mikey excitedly for the tenth time since coming back. It just never gets old.

"We _know_ ," says Mikey rolling his eyes, but he's smiling.

Bob is talking to Patrick and Pete outside the Starbucks they're entrenched in, gesturing at his gun, then aiming it at the random zombie that's walking on the other side of the street. It goes down easily.

"Whoa, did you see that?" Frank asks taking a seat next to Mikey. "Guy's like a white Pete Washington."

"At least," Ray agrees and grins.

"Who?" Brendon asks from the counter. He's drinking something delicious and foamy that Jon fixed him just like that, without so much as a blink of an eye. Jon is now making regular coffee and there's a good chance Gerard might cry when the smell hits his nose.

"Never mind," Ray says waving Brendon off. He watches amusedly as Bob offers the gun to Patrick only to have Pete pull Patrick away. They start arguing then, making big gestures with their hands, Pete red in the face, Patrick shoving him in the chest. Bob just stares at the two dumbly, mouth hanging open, gunhand still at mid-gesture. Hemingway is licking his leg.

“Should we go rescue new guy?” Joe asks. He’s sprawled out lazily in his chair, legs stretched on the table, arms crossed behind his head.

“Already on it,” says Andy walking to the door.

 

~*~

 

It’s the beginning of their second week in Las Vegas, and Frank has dragged Mikey and Pete with him to the Arts & Crafts store situated within a stone's throw from their Starbucks.

It had taken the whole afternoon to convince Gerard not to follow them, and Mikey had had to promise Gerard he would throw Pete at any possible monster and _run_ with Frank if it came to that. Gerard had probably been joking about it, but then again, it's Gerard so maybe he was serious after all. Pete had shrugged and said he'd do it, and Frank had rolled his eyes at everyone hurrying them out the door.

And now they're here, in the store, Mikey and Pete walking behind Frank as the guy studies different pencils and markers with care.

"Why are we here again?" Mikey asks, scratching the back of his dirty head. He really needs to find a shower soon. He has been able to wash himself in water fountains and sinks, but they haven’t ventured in places with real showers in weeks.

"Gerard," Frank mumbles distractedly, picking up a marker pen and drawing a red line on his thumb. "He wants to draw so I'm getting him somethin' to draw with."

"I thought we already had pens," Pete says poking at a random price tag.

Frank bats the air impatiently. "Not the right kind."

Okay, Mikey thinks. This is really nice, but, "Why didn't you come here with Gerard?"

"It's supposed to be a surprise."

Pete smirks. "How long have you two been together?"

Frank glances at Pete before picking up more colorful markers. They're like a small rainbow on his palm. "Three years in November," he says.

Pete makes an impressed sound. "Awesome, man."

Frank smiles a little, stuffing the markers into his back pocket. "Yeah," he agrees. “It is.”

"Okay, let's give the guy some space," Mikey says suddenly wanting to have Pete all to himself. He grabs Pete's hand and pulls him by Frank towards another shelf. When they pass Frank, Mikey pats him on the back and ruffles up his hair.

"Three years, dude," Pete says looking around, still sounding impressed. "I've never even been with someone for more than six months."

Mikey frowns. "I thought maybe you and Patrick-"

"Nah, man. He- we're just friends. Really good friends."

"Oh."

Pete grins toothily. "Uh huh. What about you, then?"

"Um." Mikey's cheeks burn and he's suddenly embarrassed. "I had a girlfriend, but we didn't really get along,” he says and shrugs. “I think she hated me. She most likely hated me."

Pete laughs, really laughs at him and when Mikey scowls, he pulls him into a hug. It’s warm and awkward, heartfelt and confusing in the way that it makes Mikey’s stomach tighten nicely, knotting up his insides.

"Okay, Mikeyway. Okay then," Pete says, voice calm and comfortable next to Mikey’s ear. Mikey could get used to it.

 

~*~

 

"Come on, Mikeyway, wake up," Pete hisses nudging Mikey awake. Hemingway is pushing his wet nose into Mikey's ear and Mikey jerks his head up so fast it bumps hard against Pete's. "Th' fuck?"

"Come on. Dude, get up. There's something I wanna show you," Pete whispers pulling at Mikey's hoodie to help him up from the floor. Gerard whines in his sleep and rolls onto the gap Mikey vacated, blanket following with him until Frank pulls it back over himself.

Mikey scratches his head and blinks at Pete. It's so dark he can barely see him. "The fuck?" he asks again but lets Pete take his hand and pull him out of the Starbucks, trying not to trip over anyone as they go. Pete hands him his crossbow and touches fingers against his lips to keep him quiet.

"Pete, um," Mikey whispers. It's a chilly night, the air bites at his cheeks and the tip of his nose. He glances around the dark street trying to see if there's anything he should worry about. Everywhere looks empty, but Mikey feels a tremor traveling along his spine.

"'S'okay, no monsters. Me and Hemmy checked", Pete grins and leans down to pet the dog some.

"Uh," Mikey says shifting uncomfortably. "Why did you wake me up?"

Pete looks a little taken aback. He sits down on the pavement leaning his back against the door of the café. He pats the ground so Mikey slumps down beside him, their shoulders touching. "Want a smoke?" Pete asks pulling a pack of cigarettes from his pocket, offering Mikey one.

Mikey stares at the pack for a while, trying to think if he's ever even seen Pete smoke. He doesn't think he has. "Thanks," he says dully, but sighs contentedly when he finally takes his first drag. It’s… It’s just inexpressible. "Sweet Jesus, _thank you_ , man," he says then, with more feeling, his eyes watering.

Pete smiles toothily and nods. "They're your brother's", he laughs. "Snatched 'em while I was waking you up. Thought I could lure you out with me with those if everything else failed."

Mikey snorts smoke puffing out of his nose. "You better return them if you don't want to deal with grumpy Gerard."

Pete shrugs. "I dunno, man. It might be funny for a while," he says and Mikey has to agree with him.

They share a nice silence, watching Hemingway as he runs around the street stopping to sniff at corners every once in a while, their shoulders pressing tightly against each other. "You never answered my question," Mikey says when he's finished his smoke. He throws the stub away and glances at Pete from the corner of his eye.

Pete shrugs looking somewhat sheepish. "It's stupid," he says slowly. "I couldn't sleep so I went out to get some air, right? And it was fucking creepy, but pretty sweet at the same time. The stars, and the squiggly thing I killed," he rolls his hand motioning at the mess a few feet away from them. Mikey hadn't even noticed it until now. "Just wanted to share it with someone."

"Oh," Mikey says, blinking.

"Yea. For some reason the first person I thought of was you. Sorry I woke you-"

"No, it's. It's fine," Mikey says, ears burning. "I'm glad you did. Dude." He taps his finger against Pete's hand before taking it and squeezing. Pete kind of rolls his head, his nose bumping against Mikey's cheekbone. He rubs his nose into Mikey's cheek slowly, coaxing Mikey into turning his head until their lips touch. It's soft and careful. The opposite of Mikey's grip on Pete's hand.

 _It’s more than just fine_.

 

~*~

 

Mikey is eating breakfast with Bob, Pete and Patrick, stuffing his face with beef jerky and dry crackers, when Frank walks sleepily from the customer bathroom. He sits down gingerly, a goofy grin on his face, eyes drooping a little, and hair messily curling towards his cheekbones.

Mikey rolls his eyes at him. He pushes a Thermos bottle at Frank, making it hit his knuckles. There’s something written on Frank’s palm with the rainbow markers, and Mikey notices it when Frank opens his loose fist to grab the bottle.

Gerard comes out of the bathroom some minutes later, a childish stick figure coloring his neck.

 

~*~

 

Andy stops talking about his worldviews on the day Joe disappears.

They’re at a supermarket with Jon and Brendon, and Joe says he’s going to get some colorful ball gum from the machine on the side of the store. He says he’ll be right back, and they shouldn’t worry because he can hold his own.

When Andy, Brendon and Jon have stuffed up their bags with canned food and candy bars, and Joe hasn’t come back yet, they go looking for him.

They never find him. He’s gone.

After Joe’s disappearance, they make it a rule to always walk in small groups, making sure no one is left alone.

Not that it makes much difference in the end.

~*~

 

Maurice follows Pete to Vegas.

Patrick doesn't understand how it's possible for this little kid to be so persistent in creeping Pete out. He doesn't know how Maurice got from Jersey all the way to Vegas, especially since Pete and Mikey had bound him to a water fountain before they left the mall.

None of it makes any sense to Patrick, and yet the kid is here, looking at him, Pete and Mikey guiltily like he's done something naughty.

"How- how did you," Mikey says blinking at the kid. Pete looks like he's about to pop a vessel in his eye the way he's staring. Hemingway growls in Pete’s arms.

"You're all idiots," the kid says in a tiny, peeping voice. He rolls his eyes at them and shakes his head pityingly.

"Hey!" Patrick says, offended. Who does the kid think he is?

"I've come to get Pete," Maurice says patiently. "I know I've put it off for a long time, but I was kinda curious to see what would happen if I let things roll on their own."

Patrick's confused. "Huh?" he asks.

Maurice shrugs his shoulders, says, "It's been a little boring if you ask me. Nothing's really _happened_."

Mikey shifts from one foot to the other next to Patrick, seemingly uncomfortable in the situation. Patrick can't really blame him, he's uncomfortable too. Pete opens his mouth as if to say something but quickly shuts it again.

"Get Pete? What do you mean _get Pete_?" Mikey asks angrily. He frowns and lifts his crossbow, aiming it at the kid. He doesn't give Maurice a chance to answer though, but fires an arrow hitting the kid’s arm. Maurice sways a little unsteadily, pulling at the arrow, whining and sniffling. “That _hurt_ ,” he says accusingly, sticking his bottom lip out in a pout.

The kid’s eyes gleam dully for a moment, and he turns the pout into an off-putting smirk. It makes Patrick’s teeth itch, his heart pound fast in his chest. Something is terribly wrong, like the kid has become ten times more threatening since the last time they saw him. Mikey fires another arrow but Maurice dodges it easily.

Patrick grabs Pete's arm, gripping hard enough to stop his circulation, but something knocks him out, and when he opens his eyes again, Pete, Hemingway and the kid are gone.

 

~*~

 

It’s been two days now; two days from whatever it is that happened to Pete. Patrick doesn’t want to say _death_ , can’t really make himself say it even if he wanted to. They had spent the days looking everywhere for Pete, Mikey and Patrick snapping at everyone who told them to let go. They couldn’t find him though, didn’t even see a trace of him.

Gone. Just like that. Patrick wants to hit himself in the head with his stupid pipe for not believing Pete when he said that the kid was a real threat. If he had believed then maybe… It’s all a big fucking if now. There’s nothing anyone can do anymore.

Mikey’s sitting with Patrick, legs pulled up, jaw pressing into knees. Gerard and Frank had tried to talk to him about what had happened, same with Ray and even Bob. Everyone seems to want to offer him words of advice that are still so unhelpful and pointless, only succeeding to make Mikey more upset. They also want answers, answers Mikey can't give them. He has gone into a stoical, quiet place, not even blinking when Gerard walks by for the umpteenth time, leaning down to touch Mikey's shoulder and squeezing Patrick's wrist as he passes. Patrick watches Gerard walk to Frank, pull him into a hug and kiss his hair.

There's nothing anyone could have done to save Pete. Patrick knows this. The feeling of helplessness is crushing, and Patrick is lonelier than ever before. He buries his face into his forearms and sighs.

"I think I," Mikey begins quietly. He's mumbling into his knees, and Patrick has to strain to hear. "I mean, me and Pete. We- we could have really... fuck."

"Yeah," Patrick agrees. They _could have_. He thinks about Vicky for a while, the sun in her face and sparkles in her hair, wonders if she's already... "I know," he says and shuts his eyes.

*

There’s only so much Brendon Patrick can handle at the moment (Brendon is annoying Jon, obviously trying to be quiet about it but failing). So he stands up and offers Mikey his hand. “Come on, let’s get outta here for a while,” he says.

Mikey stares at the hand dumbly, but takes it, and then they’re walking to the front door. Gerard calls after them, quickly pulling away from Frank and running to stop them. “What the hell? Where do you think you’re going?” Gerard says grabbing Mikey’s arm, forcing him to stop.

“We’re going out for a while,” Patrick says grabbing Mikey’s crossbow and a pipe. He doesn’t know where they’re going, but he needs to get out.

“It’s okay, Gerard,” Mikey says calmly placing his hand over Gerard’s on his arm. “We’re just gonna get some fresh air, that’s all.”

“You have to be crazy if you think I’m letting you two out alone after what happened.” Gerard is frowning, the skin between his eyes tucking, eyebrows drawing together.

“Look, it’s not like we’re going to go looking for them. We’re even bringing weapons, see?” Mikey says pulling his crossbow from Patrick’s hands and showing it to Gerard.

“But-“

“I’ll go with them,” Andy says standing up from where he was sitting by the table, drumming his hands on the plastic surface absentmindedly.

“What? No. You’re in the risk zone too! Just hang on a sec, I’ll come with. Where the fuck’s my sword…”

Mikey snorts. “The _risk zone_? Don’t be stupid, Gerard. And you don’t have to come with me, I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself, thank you very much.”

“We’ll be fine,” Andy says patting Gerard’s back as he pushes his way out of the door.

“Don’t even worry about it,” Patrick says and gives Gerard a smile that he hopes is reassuring. He just needs some air. They all just need to breathe for a while.

“Mikey?” Gerard tries touching Mikey’s shoulder, but Mikey shrugs him off and nudges Patrick to make him exit the door. “Don’t worry, we’re not going far. Look, it’s even bright outside, it’ll be fine.”

“But. But light’s got nothing to do with-“ Gerard starts but Mikey’s already closing the door and waving him off.

 

~*~

 

Chris and Spencer move William's body from the bed.

They carry him down a set of stairs into the storeroom. Bill’s head bounces gently on Spencer’s chest when they descend the stairs, and his leg oozes on the arm of Chris’s blue hoodie.

Greta says he should have a proper burial but there aren't any places near where they could bury him. They don't want to risk running into anyone while carrying Bill between them.

So they wrap him in sheets and blankets and say their goodbyes, lock the door when they're done.

He's the third one they've lost since becoming a group, and it doesn't get any easier.

Chris feels like if they don’t find other people soon --find someone to help them fight the monsters-- they won’t last very long. Somehow, though, Chris can’t make himself care so strongly anymore. He knows they won’t beat this thing. He knows the situation is hopeless, and that the only thing there is left for them to do is to decide whether they want to give up and die soon, or keep fighting and live a day or two longer. If he’s honest with himself, he isn’t all that sure which alternative he would like to pick for himself if he was asked. He doesn’t know what he wants, so he keeps going with the flow.

*

Right now the flow is telling him to find food at the grocery store right next to their hotel.

Greta’s pulling him by the arm, not letting him stop by the cigarette shelf this time. They're in a hurry to return to their refuge where Spencer is keeping guard.

They walk past spoiled fruits and vegetables, moldy bread and the disgustingly smelly dairy section. Chris wonders how long the canned foods will last, and just for how much longer _he_ will be able to eat spam before it starts pouring out of his ears.

When they get to the wine shelf, they stop and stare.

Three guys are lying on the floor, quietly giggling to themselves, each holding a wine bottle in their hands. They're all really fucking drunk.

"And, an' then he told my mom he was there to pick me up for the prom," one of them slurs and cracks up, leaning his head on a bony shoulder. Someone in thick glasses makes a sympathetic noise and giggles. "He had a crappy little corsage with him and everythn'. I think it was meant for ‘is date but shhhe stood him up," the guy giggles, and then makes a sad sound.

Greta clicks her tongue against the roof of her mouth impatiently. "Uh, hello?" she says.

The three guys sit up with difficulty and look at Chris and Greta. "Hi?" The one with messy, shoulder length hair says and manages to wave his hand until he cracks up again.

 

~*~

 

"I knew, I fucking knew something like this would happen,” Gerard rambles. “But then I thought, maybe Mikey just needs some space! Maybe I should give it to him! He’ll be fine. He’s a smart kid. So just for once I decide to trust you even if my gut tells me not to, and what do you do? You go and be stupid." Gerard says poking Mikey in the chest. Mikey sways a little, eyes too heavy to manage to look entirely sheepish, but Brendon can tell that he's trying.

Frank is rubbing Gerard's neck soothingly while fixing angry looks at Mikey, Patrick and Andy, all sitting neatly side by side on the hotel bed.

Brendon can't really blame Gerard for being so angry with his brother, but then again, he can also understand why these three had gone and done it.

He would probably want to get drunk too if Jon died.

It was Brendon and Jon who found the three at the grocery store, along with two new kids. Greta and Chris. Together they had dragged Mikey, Patrick and Andy into the hotel because it had sounded like a good place to move in to.

"And what about you?" Gerard snaps turning to Andy. "I thought it was against your morals to be drinking in the first place?" Andy stares at the floor and shrugs. “You said you’d go with them, and that you’d be _fine_. I mean, you must have realized just how worried I was-“

“It wasn’t Andy’s fault,” Mikey says hotly, glaring at Gerard from the bed.

Gerard rubs the angel's kiss below his eye testily. "Whatever. You're all fucking... I, I can't even-"

"It's okay, Gerard," Frank says nudging at Gerard's shoulder with his nose. "Come on, I think we both need a hot shower." He eyes at Mikey, Patrick and Andy like he wants to yell at them, but he doesn’t say anything when he starts tugging at Gerard’s hand.

Gerard sighs but relents and lets Frank pull him out of the room. He leans down to grab both of their backpacks from the floor as they go. They disappear into the opposite room, and before the door closes, Frank yells at everyone to think twice before coming bothering them.

Mikey looks like he's about to puke, so Bob grabs him by the collar and armpit and takes him to the bathroom. Ray tags along muttering something about burned toast and how it always used to help Gerard's hangovers when the guy still drank. Patrick slumps down on the bed looking miserable, and Andy continues sitting on the edge, hands under his thighs, shoulders touching the tips of his ears.

Jon is watching Greta and Spencer with interest. They stand leaning against the wall, arms crossed and taking in the situation. Chris props up against the arm of the chair where Brendon is sitting.

"So, uh," Spencer says. "You guys are not from around here are you?"

Jon snorts sitting down on the bed next to Patrick's thighs. "What gave it away?"

"Just a lucky guess." Spencer smirks and brings the thumb of his left hand to his mouth, biting the cuticle. "You're welcome to stay though, in the hotel I mean, if you want. I think those two already decided for themselves," he says nodding his head at the door that Frank and Gerard had stormed out from.

"Yeah, it's fine," Greta says and smiles at Brendon. "We could use some help keeping the place secure."

Brendon smiles back at Greta and then looks at Jon thinking how this is exactly what they had been hoping for. "Thanks," he says, and out of the corner of his eye, sees Chris shrugging his shoulders.

 

~*~

 

The putrescent green vomit that hits the magenta toilet bowl makes Bob shudder. Mikey is retching, hands gripping thighs, muscles convulsing under a vintage band shirt. Bob thinks maybe he should be rubbing Mikey's back, saying something soothing to get him relaxed, but Ray's already pushing past him, kneeling down next to Mikey.

"It's okay, just get it all out," Ray says with a strong, calm voice. His hand rubs between and under Mikey's shoulder blades, and he turns to look at Bob. "Gerard used to be like this at least four times a week. Can you get him some water?" he says nodding his head at Mikey and then at the faucet. Bob grabs a plastic cup from one of the cup holders beside the sink and fills it. He hands it to Ray. "Thanks. It was usually Frank or Mikey who had to deal with it, but I picked up a few things."

"Gerard's-"

"An alcoholic, yeah. He's been sober for a while though," Ray says pushing the cup in Mikey’s hands when he stops vomiting.

"More than just a while," Mikey gets out in between spitting in the bowl and gulping down water. "Ugh, gross," he whines wiping his mouth to the inside of his wrist.

Ray sighs, "Fine. _More_ than just a while. But how do you think he feels now that his brother's started drinking because life sucks? You could have gotten yourself killed. Not to mention Patrick and Andy!"

Mikey glares at Ray, pushes up unsteadily so Bob stretches out a hand in case Mikey decides to topple over on his face. "I think this is a little bit different than what Gerard went through. Plus hey, monster apocalypse!" Mikey pushes Bob's hand away and staggers towards the bathroom door. "I'm gonna have to hurry the fuck up if I want to end up a drunk fucker before I die," he says walking out.

Ray gets up, takes Mikey's cup from the floor and empties it in the bowl before flushing the toilet. "They're not the most pleasant people when drunk."

"Huh," Bob says. He doesn't really know what to say. The whole situation's making him depressed. Like, before he met these guys, the only thing he cared about was that he could go down fighting, but now. Now he isn't so sure if he even wants to think about _going down_ , fighting or not fighting.

 

~*~

 

The room is welcoming. Soft mattresses, clean towels, and a torrent of light shining through double windows. Gerard drops the bags by the bed and goes to look out into the street. The view that greets him is like a colorful, macabre circus, and Gerard is glad he doesn’t have to be out there, not now anyway.

"There's a tub," Frank yells from the bathroom. "And, oh God, pink shower gel!"

Gerard pulls the thin white curtains over the view and turns around. Frank is leaning against the doorjamb, unbuttoning his jeans. He glances up at Gerard and grins, his three-day stubble scratching naked shoulder when he tugs his head back down. "There's green too if you have issues with your masculinity."

Gerard snorts. "Well that's comforting to know."

"Uh huh. So maybe you should hurry up, you might get lucky," Frank says easing out of his jeans and then walking into the bathroom, inked pumpkin on the back of his neck smirking at Gerard like it knows something they don’t.

Gerard pulls out of his dirty clothes and follows. He needs to be with Frank, needs Frank to fill his mind so that he can stop thinking about the different scenarios that could have happened to Mikey if he hadn’t been found soon enough. Gerard doesn’t know what he would do if he lost these two, Mikey and Frank, doesn’t ever want to think about it.

Frank nuzzles his stubble against Gerard's throat until Gerard picks up his razor from the counter close to the sink. They take turns shaving each other in the shower, tasting soap when they kiss. It’s mostly Gerard doing the shaving. He has never been so glad about his inability to grow a serious beard than he is these days.

The water is just hot enough. It makes Gerard lean his head into Frank's hair and mouth kisses there. He lathers Frank's back, scrubbing away some stupid texts and drawings that he left there earlier, and whines when Frank snaps gently at his collarbone.

Hot water awakens Gerard’s sleepy circulation. His sore muscles warm up and relax. The nail scratches on his back sting when he moves.

Frank gets awfully quiet, just leaning into Gerard, letting him tend to him. It's like all of his energy is washing away with the dirt, disappearing into the drain.

"Feel okay?" Gerard asks quietly, nudging Frank's head up with his nose. Frank looks tired, and like he's trying to hold back tears.

"Fine," he says and looks away. Frank's anything but fine and Gerard's about the same. "It's just. _Mikey_ ," he says batting the air with his hand, and Gerard makes an understanding noise. "And Joe, and God, _Pete_."

"I know. I'm just glad Mikey's okay. I don't know what I'd do if-"

Frank nods against Gerard's shoulder, fingers digging into Gerard's hips. "Try no to think about it too much," he says, all warm breath and low, quiet voice.

The moment is too slow and tranquil to fit well into their new lives, but it’s exactly what Gerard’s been craving for.

They let the water caress them –holding onto each other, Gerard’s hands resting on Frank’s shoulder blades—until Frank sighs heavily and Gerard can’t tell how much time has passed.

"Come on," Gerard says picking up a small bottle of shampoo. He pours some on his palm and empties the rest of the bottle on Frank's head. "Let's get cleaned up before the water gets cold."

Frank nods uncertainly, fingers starting to rub white foam into his hair. "You don’t want-"

"The bed," Gerard says dropping a quick kiss behind Frank's ear, the bitter taste of shampoo touching his mouth.

*

Frank moves down Gerard's stomach, licking away random water droplets that the towel didn't catch. He's palming Gerard's inner thigh and balls, mouth easing down on him, making Gerard groan loudly like he just can't keep it inside any longer.

Frank kisses him like this for a while, licking and nosing at sensitive skin, teeth carefully grazing him just the way Gerard likes. It makes Gerard arch his back and tug at Frank's damp hair.

He pulls Frank up after a while, flipping him on his back and kissing him fervently, thumb pressing down on protruding ribcage. His ears are wonderfully full with the noises that Frank makes. There are no sounds of destruction or despair anymore, no one is growling by his ear like it wants to bring him down. It’s just him and Frank, and it feels almost like they’ve finally come home.

Gerard presses his hips into Frank’s, arms shaking when a shock of everything that is good and gorgeous and _Frank_ flashes through him. He scrapes teeth against the insides of his cheeks and snaps his eyes shut when Frank arches up, hiccupping his name.

"Frank, Frankie," Gerard pants against Frank's mouth trying to catch his breath, fingers touching Frank’s flushed face, neck, sliding down his chest. He licks Frank's soft, well-kissed bottom lip pulling it into his mouth, teeth closing briefly around the lipring. There's a familiar feeling in Gerard's chest, like it wants to stretch around some nice pressure, and the muscles in his stomach tighten when Frank thumbs the bumps of his spine.

Frank is breathing heavily, taking in sharp, shaky gasps of air when Gerard rubs the spit-slick pads of his fingers up along the inside of his thigh and further, and he groans when Gerard pushes inside.

They don't last very long.

Gerard would maybe want to take his time, linger in the moments that don't make him feel like the end is near, but it just doesn't happen. He comes inside Frank after a short while, shuddering and breathing harshly against Frank's flushed face. His hand is wrapped around Frank’s cock, jacking him off as he studies the dark of his irises until Frank's eyes snap shut and he groans, Gerard's palm getting satisfyingly wet just a second later.

*

Frank is sweaty and tired in the crook of Gerard’s arm, eyelids heavy like it’s taking all of his effort not to make them thump closed. Gerard has to strain to keep himself from falling asleep. It’s only the afternoon, not even dark outside, but staying alive has never taken so much of their energy as it does these days.

Gerard leans over Frank, digging his jaw into Frank’s upper arm as he reaches for his backpack, zipping it open and rummaging through it. His fingers bump against t-shirts, markers and the folded picture of the clown he painted for Mikey ages ago before he finds what he’s looking for. “Here,” he says pulling out a slightly melted Snickers bar, the last one he has. He pushes it into Frank’s hand. “Should eat that.”

Frank snorts as Gerard settles back on the bed. He leans his head on Gerard’s shoulder and puts the candy firmly on Gerard’s chest. “Fuck you, you eat it. It’s yours.”

“Well I’m giving it to you, so ha.”

“Don’t want it, already ate all of mine.”

Gerard rolls his eyes at Frank. “I _know_ you did. That’s why I’m giving you mine.”

“You’re not making any sense. I had like four of these already today.”

“Yes, and now you’re having a fifth one,” Gerard says pushing the bar back to Frank. “You’re tired and hungry and we’re not gonna get more food until tomorrow unless you want to go out there now before it gets dark. So eat the fucking thing.”

“And what the fuck are you going to be eating?”

“It’s okay, I’m not really that hungry. I can wait.”

“Bullshit. And it’s just a fucking candy bar, you idiot,” Frank says and pushes it back to Gerard. “ _You_ eat it.”

“No, you eat it.”

“No. You eat it.”

“No, you eat it.”

“Stop being fucking difficult, Gerard,” Frank says angrily and smacks the bar on Gerard’s chest. The wrapper rustles noisily and Gerard’s skin tingles for a ghost of a second.

“You’re the one who’s being difficult,” Gerard says through gritted teeth shoving the candy into Frank’s palm, forcing him to wrap his fingers around it. “Eat it.”

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Frank says sitting up. He unwraps the chocolate and poorly splits it in two. “Okay, fine, we share it. Here, you can even have the smaller bite if you promise to fucking shut up about this.”

“ _Fine_ ,” Gerard says testily and stuffs the candy into his mouth, harshly chewing on it as he watches Frank do the same.

“Okay, now be quiet, I’m gonna sleep,” Frank says thickly, mouth still full as he pulls the covers over them and tugs his head into Gerard’s neck, forehead nudging up at Gerard’s jaw.

Frank’s jaw works against Gerard’s collarbone for a while chewing the taffy chocolate, and Gerard makes a satisfied noise draping his arm around Frank, pulling him closer.

 

~*~

 

The light flickers for a short while like it's getting tired of keeping up appearances. The spot between Patrick's eyes tickles and his eyes hurt. He pulls his trucker hat over his face feeling like crap.

Jon is talking with Greta, Chris and Spencer while making coffee. There's a water boiler plugged into the wall, and even though everyone can make coffee from hot water and instant powder, Jon gets the honor because of his earlier job experience.

"Sorry I almost got you killed," Mikey says quietly close by. They're both lying on the bed, the top of their heads touching the end of pillows.

Patrick turns his head to the side, lifting his hat a little so he can look at Mikey. "What?" he asks.

"You know, earlier. Just. I'm sorry."

Mikey looks miserable. His hair is greasy and his glasses are full of finger smudges. It's never easy to say if Mikey is happy or not, his face never really changes expressions, but Patrick can tell Mikey isn't happy _now_. Patrick doesn't know what exactly would have happened between Pete and Mikey if time hadn’t run out, but he guesses everyone was expecting for something to happen. There just wasn’t enough time, like there never seems to be.

"What, the store? It's not like you forced me to drink."

Mikey shrugs, "But still. I'm sorry." He taps Patrick's knuckles with his finger and sighs unhappily.

"Well then, I'm sorry too," Patrick says taking Mikey's hand and squeezing. They turn their heads towards Andy who's still sitting at the edge of the bed staring at the floor. "Hey Andy," Patrick says and Mikey pokes Andy's back with his toe. "We're sorry."

Andy turns his head and waves a hand at them. "Yeah, yeah," he says.

Patrick squeezes Mikey's hand again, and Mikey squeezes back.

*

Bob offers to help Mikey and Patrick into a quiet room to sleep off the alcohol. Andy stays on his spot on the bed, even if Ray insists he should get some sleep as well.

"I'm fine," Andy says when Bob's leaving with Mikey and Patrick.

They pass Frank and Gerard's room in the hallway. No sounds are coming from behind the door but Bob doesn't think that they're sleeping. The thing he's learned about Frank and Gerard is that they go at it every chance that they have. It's not like Bob can blame them though, he'd probably do the same if he had someone to do it with.

"Which room do you guys want?" Bob asks. He's about to say that they should probably choose one close by but Patrick's already walking into the room next to Frank and Gerard's, Mikey in tow.

"This one looks as good as any," Mikey says. "Just as long as the walls are thick enough. I really don't feel like listening to my brother and Frank in the other room." He shudders and pushes up his glasses smudging them ever more.

Patrick slumps down on the bed next to the window and yawns, rolling over onto his side and closing his eyes. "Go to sleep, Mikeyway," he says reminding Bob of Pete. Mikey looks at Patrick for a moment like he’s thinking the same, before he lies down on the other bed.

"Do you guys like, need anything? I can stand guard or something if you want," Bob offers. He doesn't know what he should be doing. Maybe he should help Chris with securing the place? He feels a little unfocused though, like he just doesn't know what one should do in such a situation.

"Nah, just go unless you want to sleep too. There's plenty of room," Mikey says patting the side of his bed. Mikey is so skinny that he's only taking up a fourth of the bed. Bob would fit there just fine.

Bob ends up taking a shower and napping on the bed for the rest of the day, hand resting on his gun, Mikey's head pressed against his shoulder. Patrick breathes heavily on the other bed, right beside them.

 

~*~

 

Frank wakes up to something tickling his shoulder blades. It’s dark outside but the electricity still works, so at least they have that. He blinks sleep away from his eyes, raising his head up a little, hand feeling up the soft covers that are pushed down to his lower back. His fingers bump against Gerard’s thigh and he pokes at the skin for a while. “What’re you doing?”

Gerard pushes Frank’s head down on the bed, leaving his hand on the back of his neck as if trying to keep Frank from moving. “Just drawing a little,” he says and continues tracing lines on Frank’s skin.

“Huh. Drawing what?”

Gerard hesitates. “Wings or something. So you can fly away when it gets really bad,” he says quietly, trying to sound casual but failing. Had he done something so ridiculous six months ago, Frank would have laughed at him, most likely made fun of him for days. Now it’s just breaking his heart, making him curl his palm on Gerard’s knee and squeezing tightly.

“And what? Leave you here? It doesn’t work like that,” he says. Gerard is sitting on his legs, so Frank digs his fingers into the seam of Gerard’s thigh and calf, and lets him finish his drawing.

When he’s done, Gerard picks up the clown watercolor from his bag and starts sketching on the back of the paper with such familiarity and calmness that Frank can’t help but lose himself in it.

“What?” Gerard asks quirking an eyebrow.

Frank says, “Nothing”, smiling toothily. He shakes his head a little closing his eyes. He’s missed the soft sound of markers touching paper, and knows that Gerard has too.

*

A lot of things happen in a short span of time.

Jon pushes Greta against a wall in her room and touches her thighs.

 

Brendon and Spencer bond over a mutual love for Animorphs and Vegas lights.

“I’m actually from Vegas,” Brendon whispers like it’s a big secret and only Spencer can ever know. “I was just visiting relatives in Jersey with mom and dad when this thing started.”

 

Chris shows Ray the Guitar Hero game he stole some time ago and managed to hook up into his room. They end up playing it for hours, and Ray doesn’t even notice the commotion that starts building up in the hallway until it’s too late.

 

Gerard wakes Bob up quietly, whispering to him to get up because he needs to have a word with him. Gerard looks awful, but at the same time so much in control that Bob can only get up and obey. He leaves Mikey and Patrick sleeping in the room, watches as Gerard smooths down Mikey’s hair and kisses his forehead, placing his switchblade on the bed beside Mikey before hurrying out the door.

“What’s up?” Bob asks when Gerard has closed the door behind them and they’re both standing in the bright hallway. Bob has to blink and rub his eyes to adjust them to the light.

“I need you to do something for me,” Gerard says looking more serious than Bob has ever seen him before. His hair is sticking out worse than usually, and his eyes are as clear as painted glass. There are marker smudges on his fingers and arms: red and blue like bruises and blood.

“Anything,” Bob says dumbly and watches Gerard sigh shallowly.

“Mikey,” Gerard says. “I need you to make sure he’ll be alright. I- I need you to promise me you will do your best to look after him.“

“Uh, of course, Gerard,” Bob says uncomfortably.

Gerard nods, sighing. “Good. Good. That’s. Thank you,” he says earnestly and bites his lip. Bob thinks he’s acting a little oddly especially since things seem to be looking up. They finally have a good place to stay and new people to share the madness with. Gerard should be happy. He doesn’t look happy.

“I realize I can’t ask you to make sure he survives this,” Gerard says and rolls his hand before brushing it over his forehead. “I don’t think anyone will, but. I just want you to keep an eye on him when I’m gone. Make sure he doesn’t do anything stupid like-“

“Whoa,” Bob says surprised. “What is this- what- what are you-“

“Please just,” Gerard blinks rapidly and touches Bob’s upper arm. “Can you promise me that? Promise me you’ll try.”

“Of course, but why are you saying this? Everything’s okay, right?”

Gerard frowns and pulls his hand from Bob’s arm starting to press it against his own stomach, other hand gripping his bicep. “It’s Frank,” Gerard says looking away. “He got bit. He’s. He’s resting now but,” Gerard shuts his eyes tightly and presses his head down.

“Shit. Shit- what? But. _How_?” Bob asks, his own stomach knotting up painfully. He feels like he’s going to be sick. He can’t even believe it, and yet one look at Gerard and he knows that it’s true.

Gerard pushes a fat tear from his cheek angrily and starts hugging his arms again. “We heard noises from behind the door. We thought it was Mikey or something. I was stupid. Really fucking stupid. I opened the door and, and-“

Bob reaches out to touch Gerard’s shoulder, but Gerard shrugs him away.

“It attacked me, so Frank. God, he _strangled_ it with the rosary, pulling so hard it broke into pieces, pretty amber spheres scattering everywhere.” Gerard takes a deep, shuddering breath and makes a weird, strangled noise. “He got it off me, got it killed, but before it died, it bit his leg!” Gerard says desperately. “I should have seen it coming, should have stopped it from, from-“

Bob pulls Gerard into a hug, gripping him tightly enough to keep Gerard from pushing him away. “I’m sorry,” he says. It wasn’t supposed to end like this, not for these two. They were supposed to survive.

Gerard makes a small noise and Bob lets him pull away. “Just make sure Mikey won’t come looking for us. That’s all. Make sure he understands.”

Bob frowns. “You’re staying with Frank? When he- when he turns you’re gonna be there?”

“Of course I’ll be there,” Gerard says like Bob is crazy for even asking that.

“Are you sure? I mean-“

“Bob. There’s nowhere else I’d rather be right now than with Frank, you have to understand that.”

“He will try to bite you when he’s turned.”

Gerard sighs, and Bob can see windows in his eyes. “There’s nothing left for any of us to do than to decide how we want to go down. I need to be with Frank when it ends. I need to be holding him.” Gerard glances down at the hallway, eyes lingering on the closed door to his and Frank’s room.

“Then go,” Bob says. He gets it, he understands. One look at Gerard and he knows exactly where Gerard belongs. Gerard gives him a relieved look, like he was waiting for Bob’s consent, and goes to open the door. Bob can see their attacker lying dead on the floor. It has a red flannel shirt, and a wedding ring glitters around its finger. Meet destiny, Bob thinks grimly and glares at it. So much for not going down. So much for surviving the experience.

Gerard turns to look at Bob for the last time. He smiles weakly and thanks him for everything.

“Don’t even- it’s the least I can do.”

“I’ll double lock the door. We shouldn’t be able to get out without someone else breaking down the door.”

“I’ll make sure Mikey doesn’t do anything stupid,” Bob says tightly and Gerard grins at him, nodding.

“Good,” he says. “Thanks. Oh, and you should all leave as soon as possible. If one got past the barriers, others will too. You need to get everyone out of here.”

“Yeah,” Bob agrees, nodding dumbly.

“Tell Mikey I’m sorry about yelling at him, but if he thinks I didn’t mean what I said, then he’s in fucking denial,” Gerard grins again. “And when Ray finally stops playing Guitar Hero, let him know I’m sorry I didn’t come say goodbye. I just really fucking hate goodbyes, y’know?” he says and shuts the door. The locks click in place, and Bob is left alone in the bright hallway.

 

~*~

 

The room is still as nice and welcoming as ever. Gerard glances at Frank on the bed. He is lying, eyes closed and breathing heavily, a slight frown creasing his forehead. Pulling at the zombie’s arm, Gerard manages with some difficulty to drag it into the bathroom out of their sight. He leaves it slumped on the magenta floor, washes his face in the sink and wets a small towel that he brings to bed. Settling down on soft covers, Gerard pulls Frank into his lap and starts cleaning his sweaty face. Frank shudders and brings his hand up to pet Gerard’s arm a little.

“What’re you doing, Gerard?” Frank mumbles into Gerard’s chest.

“Just cleaning you up a bit,” Gerard says wiping down a sweaty neck and brushing his lips over Frank’s temple. He rubs an open palm over Frank’s back, pressing against fading marker wings that had felt like such a significant detail at the time.

“No, I mean. Why’d you come back? You need to be getting the fuck away from me,” Frank says, weakly trying to push himself up from Gerard’s chest. Gerard pulls him back down and wraps his arms tightly around Frank’s stomach.

“And leave you here? Doesn’t work like that.”

“No, Gerard, please. You have to leave _now_.” Frank is shaking his head, trying to push away from Gerard only to have Gerard’s arms tighten around him.

“Frank. Frank! Ow, son of a bitch,” Gerard says when Frank manages to knock his elbow against Gerard’s nose making his head bump against the wall. “Stop fucking struggling, it won’t help. I love you, and I’m not going anywhere so you can drop it.”

“Love you too but I’m gonna hurt you,” Frank says sadly going limp in Gerard’s arms, and Gerard says “Get some rest,” and then that’s that. Frank tries to shake the sleep away but Gerard can see how tired he is, how weak he’s become.

Eventually Frank’s eyes fall shut, and his breathing evens out. He is still frowning a little, the small wound in his leg probably hurting him more than it should be, the infection spreading everywhere.

Gerard guides Frank’s head up a little so that dry lips touch his neck.

He closes his eyes and waits.

Frank is warm and peaceful in his arms.

 

 _End_


End file.
